Diary of a lucky kid

I went to Disneyworld when I was 6 and I wrote a diary all about it. I am certain that I remember that holiday more vividly thanks to writing it down and re-reading my account over the years. Therefore, when we were putting together this holiday, I decided that the boy would write a diary to help him remember this one. It took some cajoling but he did eventually get into the idea. It's interesting to see what he has cherry picked as the most interesting points of each day. The sentences themselves are unedited, including spelling and grammar, but I have taking the liberty of putting them all in chronological order as things got a bit "stream of consciousness" after we went to Disney and Mickey's pals kept popping up in random places throughout the diary. So here it is a 6 year old's view of the holiday of a lifetime:

On Thursday we woke up very early to get on a taxi to go to the airport to get on a plane to go to L.A....

On Friday we went to the beach and we found lots of poor wild-life hiding from the gulls and I made a new friend Marly.

On Saturday we took Max (Emma's dog) for a run in the school fields. On the way back Max pooed. 

Max (not pooing)

On Sunday we saw Sylvie and Eddie and I showed them angry birds free fall and bad piggies. 

On Monday we went to the Natural History Museum and on the way in we saw a whale skeleton. We also saw some animals, a triceratops skeleton. As well as that we saw a plesiosaur skeleton. We also saw a T-Rex skeleton. That's not all, we also saw a 'real' space shuttle! Wow! We also saw a diver in a sea tank. After we has enormous ice creams! Then we went to the gift shop.

Raaaaar

On Tuesday we went to the beach and I had a lot of fun in the sea!

On Wednesday we went to Disney-land and we saw a parade and went to an awesome Buzz Lightyear game. We also did an awesome Star Wars "ride". On it Darth Vader threw us around and in the middle of it droids attacked! After we stayed in a hotel.

On Thursday we went back to Disney-land. We had to line up for a very long time to see Captain America and Spider-man. After seeing these two superheroes we spoke to Crush the Turtle from Finding Nemo! 

We love Cap

On Friday we came back to Emma's house. 

On Saturday we went to the cinema and saw Zootopia.

On Sunday we drove for five hours to get to Yosemite. 

On Monday we went on a trail at Yosemite. We saw some amazing water-falls! I spotted a Great California Redwood. 

Can you spot the redwood?

On Tuesday we drove to San Francisco and stayed in a hotel which used to be a fire station. 

On Wednesday we had an explore around San Francisco. We saw some amazing things. We saw an enormous tower and we saw Alcatraz through some binoculars. Then we went to the park and saw some wild-life! Then, after a lot of nagging, we went to the playground and can you guess what the floor was? SAND! 

On Thursday we took a boat to Alcatraz!! Alcatraz is a very famous jail. We sadly went to the airport to get back to England. I brout "The Diary of a Wimpy Kid".

Long haul

We we have landed in LA and are delighted to be here. I am sure you're all agog to find out how the flight went, I'm sure it's kept you awake. it certainly kept us awake. It was not the smoothest of journeys, to be honest, and I think my kids (and husband) handled it like fucking heroes.

The day started at 5:00a.m. to get to a flight at 10:00a.m. I need to get to the airport early for every flight. I am not sure why this is. It's not like I'm unfamiliar with air travel. I grew up at Heathrow, pretty much. Both my parents worked there and I have been flying since I was 6 months old. I had two international holidays a year since I was born until I went to university. Hell, I went to Mauritius when I was two - there is a kick ass photo of me riding a giant turtle but I have no recollection of the holiday whatsoever. The family anecdote is that mum insisted on waking me up on the flight to look at Kilimanjaro as we flew over it.*  She truly was made of different stuff than I. The idea of waking a sleeping two year old on a long haul flight... I would rather stick my hand into the mouth of a tiger. 

If you were on that flight we me, I apologise.

The reason we could afford such wonderful experiences was that we are part of the Irish diaspora so we have family dotted all over the world to go and stay with and because of three magic words: stand by tickets. Every holiday I went on as a child meant getting dressed in my Sunday best to go to the airport, never knowing if I would be lording it up in first class or going home sobbing into a snotty tissue because there was no room on the plane that day. I thought everyone got champagne from age 14 when they got on a flight. I didn't know it was because we were part of the mile high mafia. I have sat in jump seats next to the cabin crew (I don't think they let you do this anymore). The most memorable experience was when we had to absolutely positively make a connection in Switzerland at the height of summer or we would miss a sizeable chunk of our holiday and my dad and I sat in the cockpit behind the pilot and watched the Geneva Jet erupt?... spurt?... ejaculate?... well, we we watched it do whatever it does, sitting behind the pilot as he landed the plane. It was pretty special.  

I've even worked for Aer Lingus at Heathrow myself: so i've watched people miss flights, lose luggage and get stuck in horrendous delays. I would just like to point out that when this happens, no one is doing it to spite you. Contrary to some people's attitude, airline staff do not delight in delaying planes, they do not want to watch your grumpy disgruntled faces for hours on end, they do not gain strength from the sound of your children crying. They would much rather send you on your way with a smile and get back to the serious business of shopping and drinking at weird times of the day.  I have watched an airport work from the inside. I loved it and I still miss the buzz of it, though I know it's not like it used to be for staff or passengers now. 

However, now I am part of the ordinary seething mass of humanity, this insider knowledge counts for nothing. Even though I spent my childhood sauntering on to planes at the last possible second, as an adult if I am not in the airport with at least 3 hours to spare before my flight I can feel my jaw clench and the tendons in my neck begin to twang. I think it's due to my primary motivator - I don't want to be the dick who delayed the plane.  I am very lucky to have a patient and understanding husband.

After yesterday I now know that my need to spend additional time in an airport before a long haul flight will make a long day much longer but at least I was calm chilled-out mummy at that point. We pootled around the airport, had a lovely breakfast and, with plenty of time to spare, wandered up to the plane. Which broke. The bastard plane broke. We were sent off with coupons to forage for food and then had to rush back, scalding coffee still swishing about in our mouths as the plane was fixed earlier than planned. Not everyone heard the announcement. We had to sit on the plane waiting for 2 people who don't have the sense to listen to the tannoy. Bastards. Bastardy bastards.

So we pushed off 4 hours late. At this point the kids were still up for the adventure and being sweet and helpful, with only occasional lapses into fits of irritating giddiness. I only envisioned them being munched up by an escalator once, which is pretty good going really. British Airways are brilliant with kids and looked after ours really well. The TV options kept them quiet for ages, letting a 6 year old was 12 rated films kept him on best behaviour, though I did draw the line when the 3 year old wanted to watch Trainwreck whilst sitting on my lap. 

I only pulled the mask off and revealed the bitch-mother within once. I had given my son an instruction to not piss about with the retractable remote control which he ignored and let it snap back, spilling a full plastic cup of apple juice over his bag of shiny new in-flight entertainments and the bag with all our electrical goods in it. This was less than one hour into the flight. The stress of sorting it out and because I needed to lock that shit down, so he would not ignore another instruction from me for the rest of the flight meant I really let rip - full, in-his-face, spit-flecked, eye-swivelling fury. YOU. WILL. DO. AS. YOU. ARE TOLD. It worked, he was brilliant for the duration. I know the twenty-somethings all around me were judging me harshly but fuck them, what do they know? They ploughed into the booze and slept beautifully. I hope their post-flight hangovers kill them. 

The only other wobble started at about hour 8 when the little one really really needed to sleep but just couldn't. She has always been a brilliant sleeper and so when she needs to sleep and can't it hurts my heart. When I can't help her sleep it makes me want to cry. She wasn't naughty, or loud or difficult, she was just tired and sad. Once again it was BA Entertainment to the rescue. They had audiobooks of fairy tales available so my little Goldilocks went to sleep dreaming of the three bears. 

Waking her up was pretty hairy too. She had been contorted into the shape of a pretzel and sleeping deeply in the way that only a three year old can, when the plane landed and it woke her up. Her rage and confusion left my bitch-mother performance in the dust. She shrieked out a C8 at least three times and just started yelling 'No, noooo' at random intervals. When her brother, who was genuinely upset by her distress, tried to give her a hug to comfort her she punched him full in the face. What's the statute of limitations for discipling a 3 year old? I couldn't do it then, there was no way of getting through that level of distress to tell her off and i think it's just water under the bridge now.  All she wanted was a cuddle from me, but the bastard seatbelt light was on and I couldn't reach her. In the end her big brother sorted it, distracting her by pointing at planes and asking her what colours they were. He is often a much better parent than I am. 

I was so proud of my kids. They handled what was quite a tricky experience with grace and calm. When an 11 hour flight turns into a 16 hour ordeal you feel every extra minute of it. It helps that we had armfuls of snacks, books and a dazzling array of in-flight entertainment to carve up the time into manageable chunks. I think it also helps that they have two parents who will constantly point out just how bloody lucky they are to have these opportunities and that we should take nothing for granted, even long haul flights. We are so excited to be here. Let's go exploring. 

*She wasn't just an avid geography fanatic; she had grown up in the shadow of the mountain and so it had great emotional significance for her. 

Pack it in

Well, it's the Spring holiday soon. I can't call it the easter holiday as normal as Easter is done with and our bellies are already full of chocolate eggs and guilt. As we are not rolling in money we are taking our BIG FAMILY HOLIDAY now. Due to a lot of pre-planning, the weird scheduling of these school holidays, having friends to stay with and because Mercury is in retrograde or somesuch we are pushing the boat out a bit* and heading for America.

It seemed like such a good idea 10 months ago when I started booking it. Now I am careworn, sick and tired and bored by the whole endeavour. I hate all shops and most websites, especially Trip Advisor and their ilk. I am angered by the price of sunscreen, children's clothes and the myriad 'necessities' I have had to purchase prior to take off. I have been into town a zillion times and I still haven't managed to pick up everything I think we might need. I hate shopping for holidays; the pressure of making a mistake, of not having what we need when we are alone in the wilderness makes me itch like I've already encountered Poison Oak. Last week, in Sainsbury's, I caught myself having a fantasy about succumbing to a bear attack just to be done with the whole sorry mess. 

I think it is the flight that is filing me with the greatest dread. I don't want my kids to be the biggest dickheads on the plane. My son will be carrying his own bodyweight in puzzle packs, sticker sets, audio books and toys he enjoys playing with but won't be heartbroken by should we accidentally leave them behind. It is a very fine balance. Honestly, one minor push at the airport and he'll be left stranded on his back like an upturned turtle. I shall take photos should this occur. As for the three year old; I intend to glue an iPad directly to her hands until we have direct line of sight on a swimming pool. However, she has just discovered that she can shriek a C8 so I may bring a tranquilizer dart as well, just to be on the safe side. Everyone I have spoken to about long haul flights with small humans has been very reassuring. The general advice is bring shitloads of snacks and an iPad. I think I can pull that together. 11 hours in a plane. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. 

Holiday kidmin is just the worst and when I add a tech-addicted husband to the mix the pile of shit that needs to be attended to grows exponentially. Fun fact - gadget insurance increases your travel insurance premium more than a child with mild asthma does. Having both is expensive. I have scoured the internet, picked the brains of friends and read endless books to ensure we have a magical and varied experience. Hell, I've even listened to podcasts. I am trying to pull together an itinerary that is casual, flexible and allows us to experience every single aspect of American culture in a way that is as appealing to thirty-somethings as it is to pre-schoolers. Easy. 

We will be doing Disneyland and the eye-watering expense that it entails because it is MAGICAL and every child should experience it. I am already resentful that the three year old is unlikely to remember it but Mercury was in retrograde** so it was now or never. We will take lots and lots of photos and we won't talk about anything else ever again. We will be doing Alcatraz, because, after 3 hours on Lonely Planet, Trip Advisor et al,  I needed to indulge the fantasy that i could just lock them up and walk away if it all got too much. We will be doing Meltdown Comic in LA, because mummy needs some me time dammit. Suffice it to say the Days Out section of this website is about to get a lot more fancy.  

Right, I'm off to Sainsbury's (again) to load up on rice cakes, raisins and flapjacks. See you on the other side (of the Atlantic). 

*we will actually be going by plane

**to clarify; I don't actually believe in horoscopes, obviously. However, my most intelligent friend has pointed out that there was possibly something to them prior to industrial farming techniques, simply because the time of year would affect what foods were available, and so the false correlation could have had an observable effect, as pregnant women's diets varied with the seasons and this affected the neurological development of their unborn children.  

Fighting Fit

Last week at my semi-private gym session I tried boxing for the first time. I don't think it was a coincidence that it was the first time my trainer was a woman.* She took one look at me and said "I think you're going to enjoy this." She was not wrong. It was glorious. I felt like Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I have spent almost 20 years watching Buffy train and never once did it occur to me that I could use exercise to find that feeling of punchy empowerment for myself.  

I have done exercise for wellness, both mental and physical. I have done exercise to lose weight and raise money. I have done exercise as an excuse to meet up with friends. I have never once done exercise to feel empowered. I've often thought of doing a self-defence class but that comes from a place of fear not power. Also, I have never got round to doing it.  

My first taste of boxing though was thrilling. I literally jumped for joy at the end. All I did was a short routine using pads to do some punching. When I go back to the gym next week it is the only thing I want to do. Violence is lots of fun. I haven't lost as much size as I would have liked through going to the gym (that's my bad, not theirs) but I find I care far less about that now, I'm in it for the punching.

I totally get the rough and tumble play both my kids engage in; violence is clearly a jolly good time - for a short while at least. I have always gone for channeling the urge, trying to sublimate it in other 'healthier' activities. If they want to punch, I have suggested they run or skip instead. It is not the same. I know that now. It's also hypocritical, some of my happiest childhood memories are being unsupervised by adults and knocking seven shades of shit out of my cousins and being equally beaten in return. I used to wear my bruises as badges of pride.  

I am very glad I signed my son up for ju jitsu - I might be trying it for myself very soon. I thought that at 3 my daughter would be too young for that kind of activity but she's tough as nails and already quite punchy. She is also far more willing to fight dirty than her brother so they would probably be pretty evenly matched in quite a short time if she does get the opportunity to fight him legitimately.  I think I may just get her signed up and let them have at each other. Expect a lot more of my posts to be dispatches from A&E.

* I was not sure whether to acknowledge my thoughts on this, but I considered how often I haven't mentioned the times I felt that options had been closed to me because I have lady bits and how much accumulative damage this wreaks and I decided to acknowledge it. Even if it is not true in this specific instance, if we, as women, acknowledge the times we think we are not being offered every possible option it may help to make people (all people, it's not just the boys doing this) aware that this is a thing that happens and to be aware of their own part in it.  

If Only

This post started as a brief update on my previous kidmin post - but it has grown into something a bit bigger. 

Inevitably this was the week that I did forget one of the events that needed to be attended to. Beavers. It was my son's investment... investiture? investation? Whatever. It was the thing where they touch a flag, make a promise and get their badges. It is a BIG DEAL. 

I had completely forgotten it was happening. We bimbled along merrily, said goodbye to the boy and his feral pals and I was about to head home to watch my daughter begrudgingly eat something with actual vitamins in it for half an hour, when the pack leader said 'Errrr, are you not staying?' which meant I was. Of course I was. Sorry second child - your older sibling's activities take precedence over your nutritional needs. We stayed for the ceremony and it was really lovely and heartwarming and nostalgic and my little one was proud of her brother and delighted to skip that meal, so there was no real problem - but it did get me thinking about how I balance their differing and often strident needs and if I am as fair and even-handed as I can be. I find this kind of thing really difficult to balance. 

I am an only child; as a kid I did what I wanted, when I wanted, in my own space and time. I had plenty of friends who were nice to me, cousins who taught me my place in a pecking order and bullies at school to shave the edges off my natural self-confidence. I certainly didn't feel I missed out on social interactions or any life lessons due to my siblingless state. However, when I am watching my kids interact, during those golden periods when they are having fun together, I do notice they have a lot more physical contact with each other that I ever had with any other kid. Just that simple act of sharing a bath with someone every night really reinforces the concept that your body is a play thing - your farts are funny, bottom drums are hilarious and wriggling around like minnows in a pond is an excellent way to round out any day. They lie on each other like puppies when watching telly, they engage in rough and tumble, giggly silliness together all the time. I think I was considerably more precious about being touched. I certainly am as an adult.  

As an impartial observer I definitely felt that younger siblings got the rougher part of the deal during childhood. [Pauses whilst younger siblings triumphantly shove this article in the face of their older siblings.] They were usually the ones excluded from play, the ones who got hurt when the fists started flying (though the littler fists would fly more frequently, they were less able to land a really effective punch). They were the ones who were put down, corrected and coerced into doing things against their will. My uncle, the youngest of nine, once put an entire pack of Extra Strong Mints in his mouth* because my mum told him it would be funny. It was. For her. 

I know my firstborn grew up in a world of affirmation, attention and approbation. He had the time to finish his thoughts and his sentences. He was respected and adored by everyone important in his life. His needs were paramount above all else in the household. As a baby he couldn't cry for more than a minute before some adult descended upon him to make all the problems go away. The poor bastard couldn't settle himself to sleep because of my insatiable need to constantly check on him. I concede this is a hell of a lot of pressure to have put on an infant - he is now so neurotic he pisses himself if the doorbell rings**. 

My daughter, on the other hand, settled herself to sleep from about a month old, and continues to sort most things out for herself. She learnt to scale the kitchen cupboards to find my hidden box of treats before her brother who is 3 years older than her. That is the power of self-resolution. I tend to burble words like 'resilient', 'independent', 'problem-solver', 'capable' when talking about her - when I do this she is usually out of sight, doing something terrifying I'm better off not knowing about.  She can also play in her own little imaginative world with whatever toys are around for over half an hour without needing any adult support - I bloody love this about her. I think her imaginary worlds are much richer than her brother's, which are based entirely on things I have said/done/watched with him. On the other hand, one of her primary carers (her brother mostly) is sarcastic at her, interrupts her, belittles her and, when he thinks I am not looking tries to trip her or pinch her. Her world is considerably less safe than his was. As a result she is more strident, more easily frustrated when things don't go her way and she definitely has more idiosyncratic ways of expressing this - she is currently refusing to use words and just saying 'nyang nyang' a lot. I cannot express how irritating this noise is. If she don't stop soon she will be nyang nyanging her way on to eBay.**

The concept of how 'unfair' I am being does rear its head every now and then. Jealousy is a fundamental part of childhood, just as much as fear or joy. My son will complain that I spend more time with his sister than with him. I have pointed out that when I spend time with him it is usually pleasant and we have lovely chats, but when I am spending time with Little Miss Self-Resolved a lot more of it is spent fighting. I am trying for quality rather than quantity with the older one - though this argument doesn't always wash with him, he is usually appeased by it. I am very lucky to have the opportunity to spend lots of one to one time with my youngest whilst he is in school, so she gets to have fun times with me as well. Christ knows what will happen when they're both in school. 

When it comes to the 'he said, she said' arguments where I have no clue who is in the right, I try to be as even-handedly unfair as I can. I take it in turns to pick a side, dole out an arbitrary punishment to one of them and reassure the aggrieved party that next time it is their turn to be in the right and the other one will get the punishment. I have not seen this technique crop up in any parenting manuals but it works for me. I think sometimes decisive is better than just: it gets the argument out of the way and they can revert to their puppyish state of rolling over on one another and blowing raspberries on each other's tummies. 

All in all I think there are benefits and drawbacks to whatever position you hold in a family. I loved growing up an only child, but now I've made siblings I can see the delight in the chaos, silliness and casual cruelty that is part of a shared childhood. 

* Do not try this at home, it is horribly painful
* * Exaggerated for comic effect... mostly

Rediscovered pleasures

Despite what the majority of this blog implies, having kids isn't all bad. They're generally decent, kind creatures and at least once a day my heart feels as if it will explode with love for them as I watch them learning to be human. When they are spontaneously kind to other kids, or when they are afraid to try something new but do it anyway, or when they hurl themselves at a family member with 100 percent love and affection - this brings me pure pride and happiness. They have helped me relearn what joy is. 

Then there are the little things - tiny parcels of happiness they have inadvertently sprinkled into our day to day life. So many of them were things I enjoyed as a child and have somehow discarded on the way to adulthood. Therefore, my listicle today is made up of the childhood pleasures my kids have reintroduced to me:

Petit filous
Why did I ever stop eating these? They are tiny pots of scrumminess, enough sugar to give you a buzz but small enough to feel slightly virtuous.

Jumping in puddles
I'm not convinced this was de rigeur pre-Peppa Pig but it is now an intrinsic part of childhood (and parenthood) and rightly so.

Colouring in
I have touched on this before but it really is a bloody excellent way to pass an hour or so

Bike rides
I am putting this in because friends assure me it is jolly, wholesome fun. I will need quite a few more sessions at the gym before letting my wobbly arse sag over both sides of a bicycle seat in public.

Ham, fried eggs, baked beans and potato waffles for dinner. 
This is the best kind of comfort food - minutes to make, a joy to eat and minimal washing up. Perfect.

Nature watching
Be it bugs or birds, getting down on the ground and watching beasts go about their business is fascinating. I totally get that birds evolved from dinosaurs.* Have you spent any time with a swan? It's clearly a T-Rex that's had a makeover. 

Bananas and custard
Again, why did I ever stop? This is a joy of a pudding and a piece of piss to make if you buy ready made custard. (I tried to make my own custard once, from powder. It did not go well. I served it to my kids as 'custard cake' because it was solid. They were not impressed. We shall not speak of this again.)

Myths and Legends**
There's a reason these stories have lasted millennia. They are proper, powerful insights into the human condition. It's really interesting to reappraise these stories as an adult, once you've actually experienced the emotions, learnt how the world works for yourself and lived your own stories. 

Messing about in water
In my twenties swimming was a serious business; cutting through the water with cold efficiency, like a really boring shark. These days I'd much rather hoist a small child on my shoulders and try to drown my husband and the other kid, cackling like loons as we do so. Also, "synchronised swimming" - I can still do a handstand, a forward and backward roll and collapse in giggles when I attempt an underwater cartwheel. I love larking about in the pool, it's properly life affirming. 

Poetry
Seamus Heaney has always been the soundtrack to my life; weddings, births and deaths have all been marked with his words, but I seem to have left most poetry behind me. I seem to have gotten into the habit of only reading it to kids. The magnificent Julia Donaldson and Michael Rosen always make bedtime stories a treat. I have rediscovered my favourite childhood poems like Up the Airy Mountain, The Owl and the Pussycat, Cottleston Pie, The Highwayman. All the classics. After six years of this, I have finally been inspired to start exploring poetry for myself once more. Kate Tempest is my most recent discovery and is exceptional. It's nice to say hi to Syliva Plath, Stevie Smith and Wendy Cope again too. To be honest I doubt I'll be working my way through Aurora Leigh any time soon but I should be able to manage a sonnet a week, or a haiku at the very least. 

So that's my list, I'd love to know if you have any rediscovered pleasures you'd like to share with others too. That's what comments are for, i think. 

*This provides an answer to the question, which came first the chicken or the egg? It was the egg - lizards lay eggs and they were around before birds. 
**There's an excellent podcast called The Myths and Legends Podcast (surprise), which makes each story sound like it's part of Serial and to be honest with the behaviour of some of those Greek Gods they could well be. 

Kidmin

Kidmin is the slightly nauseating portmanteau term I use to describe the myriad faffy little jobs that need to be done when your kids attend school, as in "Darling husband, please can you piss off and stop talking to me, it's the Easter holidays soon and I'm sorting out the kidmin." It's managing the childcare, playdates, event days in school, extra curricular activities, birthday parties plus presents and ensuring they don't spend their free weekends just drooling over an iPad. 

The unholy triumvirate of Book Week, Sports Relief and Easter has lead to a spectacular increase in the amount of shit that has to be made, bought, brought in, swapped, donated and generally shipped from one place to another (including the kids themselves). Allow me to break down the upcoming tasks into their component parts:

Bring in a photo of your house: 
Take a photo of our house, remember home printer is broken, swear a lot, mean to ask husband to print it off at work, forget to do this and run out of time, so I post this random photo to Facebook so I can print it out at Sainsbury's and send it in.

School swimming lesson:
There are 2 of these in the whole year, so it's not exactly part of the routine: First I have to remember big kid has a swimming lesson this week and ensure that his kit is washed and dried and his swimming cap has been sprinkled with cornflour so he can get it on. (Top tip for you there) We can't find his goggles, so I swear a lot. I also have to spend 2 days reminding big kid he needs to take his inhaler before and after swimming so he doesn't look like a member of the cast of the Walking Dead by 3:30.  

[Addendum: I was out that evening and I forgot to ensure that dearest husband knew it had been a swimming day, so the kid didn't have a bath and was probably the one who smelled like a chemical toilet in class the next day.]

No school uniform + bring in an easter egg: 
I have to buy the egg, preferably without children in tow - just looking at the easter egg aisle could trigger type 2 diabetes in my kids. On the day I will totally forget and start walking to school as normal, get half way there and look at other children, swear a lot, leg it home, ignoring the plaintive cries of small child who doesn't understand what's going on, big kid puts on a spectacularly random set of clothes but it's too late to care so we grab the egg and get to school as the bell rings. Phew. 

Bring your favourite toy to nursery:
Loooong discussion with small child about which is her favourite toy. She rightly insists her favourite toys are the bunnies she has slept with every night since she was 2 months old. I try to persuade her that Giraffey the giraffe (never let small children name their own toys) might be her favourite. She lives me that look and and I concede the point. I swear a lot and take a few sneaky puffs on the big kid's ventolin to manage the hyperventilating brought on by the panic at the thought of breaking/losing the bunnies.

Come to School in Sports Kits
We are not a sporty family; small child will be squeezed into an undersized Brazil kit left over from the World Cup and I will swear a lot as I sew up the hole in the knees of big child's tracksuit*. We also have to get someone to sponsor said children for wearing sports kit - we live in a village, most of the population have been tapped for donations already, so imaginary grandparents will be donating again.

Decorate a trainer:
This one is pretty straightforward. I just have to harangue big kid into sitting at the table and completing what, to him, seems to be an arbitrary additional item of homework.  It is not obligatory, but I know from bitter experience that if we do not do this then there will be tears because it turns out 'all my friends have done it.'. So, having managed to persuade the big kid into expressing himself creatively on a line drawing of a shoe, it a simple matter of clearing up the glitter - ugh - paint and glue. Double ugh.

Bake some cakes:
I seem to always be baking fucking cakes. 

Beavers: 
This week Beavers gets a special mention and a gold star, as big kid's homework is to do 2 chores a day around the house. I love you Beavers!

We also have a couple of playdates and some birthday admin to deal with but as these are real people who are lovely and kind enough to socialise with us I'm not complaining about them, but it is still all stuff that needs to get done.

In my more bitter moments, I have thought 'fuck it I'll donate a whopping lump sum to the school and never have to deal with this shit again.' But that's not the point is it? I loved this kind of stuff when I was a kid; wearing your own clothes, participating in events for charity, whole school activities, I genuinely enjoyed all of these things. Of course, when I was a kid I was blissfully unaware of the amount of work went in to organising it all but I must grudgingly admit that, as an adult, I do think it is all worth it. It gives the kids a sense of their community, they can participate in activities that will benefit other people, it teaches them that, in giving a little, you can get a lot back. It fosters links between home and school and helps to create holistic learning. I feel more connected with my kids and what they do when I'm not there. It's just when they all come together like this its just a bit overwhelming. 

In our day to day life I am the one who does all of this, I am 'the primary carer'. It is deeply draining.  My brain is constantly ticking away, trying to slot in the next event and what needs to be done and when can I do it. If I am not doing kidmin, I am thinking about kidmin. I am pragmatic, I know that it is not the end of the world if we mess-up and forget one of these things, and it has happened in the past, more than once. But I don't want to forget, I want my kids to have the opportunity to enjoy these things... it's just so fucking relentless.  It leaves me with no energy for the more fun things in life like sex, reading and board games.

Honestly secondary carers, if you want to get laid more take it upon yourselves to organise at least one extra curricular activity a week or, if work doesn't permit that, plan a weekend trip out for the kids at least once a month. 'Organising' doesn't just mean suggesting something - it means contacting the organisers, booking the tickets, doing pick up and drop off, scheduling the meals around the activities, maybe even buying and making those meals yourself. Take over organising one of the school event's days, make the costumes, buy the props, whatever; just read the school newsletter, pick an activity and get it done. If you do all of this once or twice a month your partner may actually some energy reserves that might get used in the bedroom (or wherever you get your rocks off). Share the load - get laid.**

Thanks to this blog things have changed a bit: In the evenings it used to be; wine open, TV on and vegetate until bedtime.  I'm glad I've managed to change a small part of that at least. Now it seems to be; cherry cordial poured, laptop open and tappy tappy tappy until bedtime, but giving up wine in the week has created space for other activities, sometimes, as well. It's definitely better and I do still enjoy wine occasionally. I have learned that wine drunk to anaesthetise me and stop the niggling, nagging voice in my head does not taste half as good as wine drunk in joy. I know a glass of champagne in the bedroom is worth ten bottles of red in front of the telly. 

*I swear big child must have a penchant for eating the knees out of his trousers, it's the only explanation
** This is not a contract, primary carers still have the right to deny consent